On a Battlefield
by Ivydoll
Summary: PercyNeville. Voldemort strikes; chaos rips through Hogwarts. Nev finds himself more drawn into danger than he would have ever imagined, with Percy unexpectedly at his side. Hints of SnapeHarryDraco.
1. Chapter 1

******(KAI)** Started writing this... a long, long time ago.

* * *

**On a Battlefield**

**1**

* * *

As tightly as he could, Neville shut his eyes. Outside, the dogs railed and howled, scratching against the outer wall. He huddled more tightly in his night-robe. By some twisted convenience, he had left it at the foot of his bed and had been able to grab it when the first fires lit in the higher towers.

Normally, he would have left it on top of the dresser, across the room. His dresser being close to the door... it only made sense. But would he have grabbed it, in that moment when Seamus had gripped his shoulder and the alarms went screaming? No... he'd been hustled so quickly... barely having time to put slippers on. Sitting on the bed for that two seconds: his hand alighted upon the soft flannel.

"God," he whispered, face buried against the fold of his arms. To his left, a first-year leaned against him, one hand clutched in the red fabric as tightly as she could.

"What?" she whispered back, having elected him some time ago to the position of their group's leader. When he looked up, eight young faces were staring at him. Looking to his other side, he saw a boy, the girl's twin, slowly looking up at him with wide, sleepy gray eyes.

He paused. "I was just thinking- about nothing," he amended, catching the mixed looks of hope and terror. "Well, about my housecoat. I'm sorry, my thoughts were wandering."

The girl nodded, "Mine, too."

"I was thinking of Mom's garden," her twin said slowly, rubbing his eyes and leaning heavily against Neville when an explosion rippled above them.

A slow rise of voices met Neville's exhausted ears as the other first years clumped nearer to him and added their thoughts to the ether. He nodded to each one, feeling oddly pleased to be at the center of so much attention. It had happened abruptly; beginning with the twins, and ending with the other six who had added themselves one by one according to whatever friendship or relation drew the last.

"When do you think it will be over?" she asked him, leaning her head on his soft shoulder. Occasionally, screams and shouts could be heard from above, and one section of the dungeon wall had been blasted at, but so far remained unbroken. Neville's heart thudded to think of what would happen if the enemy breached that flimsy protection between the school's students and the outside.

What a question. God. The sixth-year closed his eyes, gripped the fabric of his own robe a little bit more tightly. Over? No.

Neville knew the battle that waged on outside had only just begun. Word had traveled down from the teachers, aurors, and ministry military on the outside to those on the inside- a hodgepodge of the same. And that word had trickled down to the head boy and head girls, and the prefects, whose job it was to maintain the calm and quiet of the hundreds and hundreds of children holed up in the Hogwarts' dungeons. All of Snape's carefully arranged tables and work stations had been shoved and stacked along the chilly stone walls, and they rattled when especially violent attacks were employed above the school. Neville wasn't sure, but he had a terrible feeling that the Death Eaters and dark wizards were gaining the upper hand. He took a deep breath, clasped the girl's cool hand in his own, and said, "It will be over when someone wins. That's all I know."

Sometime in the early morning, between the time the twins had fallen asleep with the other first years, and the time Neville might have fallen asleep himself, a tremor went through the building, and an emergency portkey flashed wildly some meters away from where Neville was hunched. He saw heads turning- some slowly lifting from their places on the ground where they had finally found rest- and his was one of the quiet gasps that followed the new chaos.

Ten of the military hands were shuttling in the wounded, and their voices were loud and efficient.

"What now?" a small voice wafted from the pile that was Neville's adopted group. The sixth-year reached over as he uncurled himself from the wall, and he touched the child's head softly.

"It's nothing, love, just try and sleep through." He made his way up, achy and cold in his bones, and staggered over to the bustle that had resolved itself near the portkey- a nondescript book on Severus' desk. One of the voices he recognized. He shouted, "Harry!"

Harry Potter, all torn and sooty from God-knows, whirled to face him, and met Neville's stagger with a limp of his own, trailing flecks of blood as he went. "Neville, I thought you were on the outside- I thought you-"

"No," the other boy interrupted. "No, I was swept up with most everyone else. I had no idea what was going on. Harry, what is going on?"

Neville's hand clasped onto Harry's shoulder, and the shorter boy gave pause. "We- we came under attack by the Death Eaters around eleven, and their forces haven't let up since. We," he gestured vaguely at the wounded assembled around the area, "are losing more and more of our people. They think-"

A terrible crackling noise filled the dungeon, echoing horribly against the walls and flagstone. Neville winced, but did not relent, "What? What do 'they' think?"

"They think Voldemort-" terrible moans broke through Harry's speech, and he clenched his fists, "They think he's got some kind of dark spell that makes the wizards and witches tied to him almost impervious to damage."

Neville nodded and released his grip as Harry's gaze went somewhat wistful, "It must work through the mark, because Severus has been right on the frontline, just- just going all night, defending us-"

"Potter!" both Harry and Neville jumped at the voice, and turned to meet it with entirely separate expressions. Harry pressed his lips into a fine line, tired but understanding Percy's haste. Neville simply stared, shocked worse than when the Hufflepuff prefects had wandered by, informing everyone of the current school damages.

Percy Weasley looked worse for wear- his dark red hair was falling in his eyes, which were also red, and shot through with strained blood vessels. His glasses were nearly askance, and he reeked of smoke. Neville had never seen him unwound from his clean, presentable countenance, and had in fact not seen him since his brief visit to the school on ministry business. God, he had been handsome. Neville was startled from his stare when Percy blinked sharply at him, and returned his attention to Harry, "They got Oliver, and Ginny. Foxdread, Tonks, Baleroot, and the Goyles, all dead. McGonagall is... gone, too."

Percy looked down, his teeth firm around his upper lip, biting as his hands came up to his own waist helplessly. "But, Snape's got the confirmation- it's all tied in to You-Know-Who. The Death Eaters can't go down unless he does first. Once he dies, that's it."

Harry also hung his head, "I see."

Neville's heart had stuck in his throat and stayed there as soon as Percy had begun to speak- his normally collected voice was strained and raspy, and the fear that the strange voice and its words struck in Neville was overpowering. Oliver and Ginny? The Goyles? These were people he had known... In passing, but somehow known. Good God, Ginny had been nice enough to dance with him-

Percy's dark stare brought him back to the present, along with a high-pitched wail of pain, and the growing cacophony of sound that was those hundreds of students all beginning to panic. "Shit," Percy muttered, and Neville was sure he could not handle any more surprises. He was freezing in his nightclothes and slippers, and just seeing his former housemate in this state was disjointing, to say the least.

And- no, no, if he even tried to focus on what was going on outside, he wouldn't be able to function- it would just be Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Cried Himself Stupid in a Corner While the Dark Lord Destroyed Everything Everyone Had Ever Known.

The redhead grasped his shoulder much as he had grasped Harry's, and looked him solidly in the eyes. "Neville," he said gently, "I know you must be frightened, but I remember how wonderful you were in Herbology."

Neville nodded, and he saw Harry nodding somewhat along. "Yes, Percy?"

"We could really use your help," he said slowly, the sounds of pain and misery of those wounded turning through the air like dead leaves. Neville nodded.

"I'll do anything I can."

* * *

Walking away was the hardest thing Percy had ever done.

The hours of battle and fear had vanished from his mind as soon as the bright light and nausea had faded. Percy hated traveling by portkey, but apparating had quickly proved to be dangerous, and for some, fatal. He could still hear the tortured groan of Sandra Beetle as some Death Eater trash had hexed her into the afterlife. Even that lasting image of his colleague had faded, however, when he saw his former housemate.

Neville Longbottom had not much changed from the last time Percy had seen him; some months ago, huddled at the table in his winter robes, while Percy interviewed the top seventh years, who were looking at their graduations in only a few short months. As it was, even in his housecoat and slippers, Neville was positively wonderful.

If he had had the time to think on it, Percy would have been able to name the feelings that the younger boy stirred in him- some latent affection from when they attended school together, some attraction that had to do with the soft, round lines of his body, some soft, blooming feeling that started in his stomach and filled him with a lasting, peculiar good mood. Of course, Percy had never had the time, and now was quite possibly the worst time to begin reflections. Instead, he savored the moment he was able to touch Neville's shoulders with his tired hands, and held on that moment too long while the young man gathered his wits. The ministry lackey felt as rotten as they came, asking the disheveled Longbottom for help when it was clear Neville was the one in need of rescue. From the faraway, dull worry in his grayish eyes, to the pale, miserable line of his mouth- Percy squeezed his thumbs into the sides of Neville's neck, and tried a weak smile, before drawing Harry away and returning to business.

Before he could brief him, Harry was on Percy's arm, grip strong as iron, "Is Severus all right? I saw him go with Lupin, but I don't know where they went-"

Percy nodded sharply, "They're protecting the escape portkeys that are being set up right now." He glanced around the high-vaulted dungeon as if it would tell him what he wanted to know. "God knows they're fine. But you have a job to do. Before mademoiselle Beetle was struck down, she had pinpointed the Dark Lord's location. Everyone we can spare is going to join you to meet him."

"Draco?"

"Yes." Percy watched that same faraway look creep into Potter's countenance, making him pale and young-looking. There wasn't time for it. Green eyes bore into him, and he shook Harry carefully, "Harry?"

"Yes…" came the answer, after a pause that was as sharp as a knife, "Yes, I know. I'm ready."

"Then I have to return to the portkeys, they're going to need me when the lines open up."

Harry nodded, returned to the book, and left Percy to try and catch a final glimmer of Neville's robed form edging through the wailing crowd.

* * *

Neville had learned their names, now: The twins were Griselda and Grayson, the only third year who had attached to him was Iky, and the first years were Aesmi, Milelu, Kurt, Lenore, and Raymond. Milelu had been the one he'd patted before going to the chaos, and the tiny boy was currently helping to feed the giant roll of gauze through Neville's hands and around a terribly wounded Bertram Aubrey. The man hissed in pain, and Neville clucked sympathetically- a sound he had mastered quickly and felt almost no feeling in. "Milelu, not so fast," he followed the command with a quick swipe to his forehead. Things were warming up as the day outside wore on, and as the number of people crammed into the dungeon increased.

Spells flew wildly back and forth in an attempt to keep things ventilated and clear, but Neville's work pace left him little for cooling down, and God, the kids- they were so helpful, but so, so tired-

Neville was exhausted and nearing the place where he would either burn out or become separated from his body. He wasn't sure what would happen, as he had never experienced such sheer, painful tiredness before. Milelu adjusted his glasses in the interim, and nodded without speaking. Iky came up behind him and hugged the younger boy's waist before handing over a stack of aloe and ginseng sheets, which Grayson took without ceremony, before clambering back to help Griselda.

Iky cleared his throat, and Neville glanced at him, trimming Aubrey's dressings. "One of my prefects said that it's not going to be long before the dungeons are broke into. What will we do?"

Neville blinked rapidly, trying to work out several problems at once. He pulled Milelu away from his perch and called out to Aesmi, who tugged Lenore and Kurt from organizing the remainder of Snape's supplies. "Raymond! Raymond Ferncrest!" Neville shouted, and the boy appeared without ado.

Without preamble, the sixth-year said, "There's word from Ravenclaw that we might be attacked down here soon. That our defenses might give out soon."

Iky nodded, pulling Milelu under his arm. The Hufflepuff boy frowned deeply, his freckles stark against the enhanced paleness of his skin. Kurt and Lenore made a similar picture, while the twins went to hang on Neville's coat sleeves. "What will we do?" Raymond breathed, trying to appear to possess Gryffindor's renowned bravery.

Neville shook his head, "I don't know. I only know that we'll probably be herded without portkeys. There haven't been any set up except the one. We might end up anywhere."

Panic and motion swarmed around them as more of the wounded were tended and treated while the small group huddled closer. Aesmi looked close to tears, and Neville said firmly, "Wherever we end up, just... just listen right now." He tried to smile, but it was hard. "Let's stick together. Let's do whatever we have to do to stay together. I know it's not much, but-"

"It's perfect!" Grayson interrupted, Griselda voice following his in an echo. Neville smiled in earnest, his eyes inexplicably watering. "I'm glad we agree. So, until then, whether it comes or not, let's keep working hard, all right?"

"All right," Raymond said quietly, almost below the level of noise. It was difficult to have a group-hug with so many, but they managed, and it wasn't long before the assembly line of work had continued- long, long into the morning and afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

******(KAI)** I think it's obnoxious to throw in so many OCs. Don't you?

* * *

**On a Battlefield**

**2**

* * *

Neville could no longer feel his arms or legs. His hands moved only because they seemed to know how. Deftly, they cleaned, wrapped, arranged, directed, and healed. Whole encyclopedias of plants and their uses whirled their facts in his mind, and he seemed hardly to notice. Somehow- _somehow_- he had become the center of the overall flurry. His voice rang, flat and cold, across the west end of the dungeons. Dimly, in the part of his mind that had not gone to 'autopilot' several hours ago, he was aware that what he was doing was amazing. He was aware that perfect strangers were wordlessly obeying his instructions, asking for his advice, and regulating responsibilities to his discretion. He was aware that he was saving lives.

He was aware that something was horribly, horribly wrong.

Lenore stopped him between one row of the wounded and the next- they were aligned in barely coherent pathways, dictated by the tables that were brought over to serve as layered beds. Neville had been stopped more than once by a hand on his ankle, from some miserable human being who had been lain out beneath one of Snape's heavy wooden benches. It was ridiculous.

The portkey flashed again. "Neville? What should I do with all these broken wands? They're sputtery."

"Sputtery?" the blonde repeated in a soft lilt of disbelief. "Just... start putting them in a box, if you can find one. And-" he began to rub his eyes, trying to make the words come out of his muddled brain and through his mouth, "And put a layer of fabric between each one. Doesn't matter what kind of fabric."

The dark-haired first-year scuttled off, knowing better than to stay in Neville's way for too long. A terrible sound of blasting shook the foundation around them, and Neville reeled, glancing up at the dusty ceiling. The sheer size of the room overwhelmed him a moment, and he knew he was disconnected from his body when he seemed to float toward the drifting specks of dirt while he himself began to fall.

He shook his head to clear the sensation. He wasn't falling at all- but leaning haplessly against a table, where the corner of someone's robe was bunched beneath his hips. Neville fought back a wave of nausea- the first feeling he'd gotten from his stomach after the first two or three hours of running himself ragged. Before the blood and stench of on-setting death, his gut had occasionally reminded him of his hunger.

Those feelings had passed a long time ago, and he had begun to wonder if he'd ever feel hungry again.

A hand grasped loosely around his wrist, and he glanced down slowly. "Longbottom," a voice hissed, and Neville responded to the name disinterestedly. He looked carefully at the haggard face which had spoken to him, and finally recognized it.

"Hullo, Malfoy," he said plainly.

Draco cracked a small, blood-caked little smile, and his fingers trailed away. "I guess that's the greeting I get, hunh?"

The Gryffindor boy said nothing. He meant no malice or warmth in any direction, and was quietly aware that he ought to express to Malfoy that he was far beyond the harsh things that had once transpired between them, and, for all intents and purposes at this moment, dead inside. The thought, surprisingly, brought a small smile of his own out, and Draco inclined his chin tiredly. "Thanks for everything," he said quietly, the hurt of saying such a common thing evident in his voice.

Neville made it worse, "For what?"

"For- for-" Draco spluttered and turned red, "I don't fucking know."

Neville nodded.

For a moment, Draco looked away, as if he might be content to ignore the soft-spoken Gryffindor, but just as Neville turned to move away, he said, "Can you do me another favor?"

"Maybe," the blonde of a darker shade paused, his voice sounding dim in his own ears, "I can try."

Draco's mouth was a thin, pale line, and the color in his face had completely drained away, leaving behind the splotchy, unsightly sheet-whiteness of an impending departure. Neville studied the face closely for a moment, and between the colorless countenance and dark, gray eyes, he understood. Draco stared at him for that moment longer, blinked heavily, and said, "Go get something to write with."

* * *

Draco Malfoy died quietly. He did not write a will, and he went without leaving his own last thoughts. His passing went largely unnoticed, with only Neville's few, small tears to see him weakly away. When Neville finally stood away from the enclosed bubble that had been Draco's final moments, and had emerged blinking into the chaos that was the dungeons, he felt helpless and small. He had shut his eyes tightly, and could not move, even to protect himself from the ceaseless flow of the wounded and those who were trying to give aid.

Lenore came to his side after a time, and took his hand. Nearby, Draco's corpse was a surreal sight in Neville's peripheral vision. "Neville?"

"Yes-" the cough was surprising, and the sixth-year cleared his throat to find his voice, "Yes, love?"

"They said the move is happening, now. I can't find Ray, but we're all getting together," she tugged his hand gently, glancing where Neville had glanced one last time. "Are you okay?"

Walking away, Neville took a deep breath, "Just tired. I didn't even know him, really."

Wisely, Lenore said nothing, and they walked into the din with their hands clasped. In his pocket, Draco's last words were the heaviest things Neville had ever carried, and he was surprised his legs weren't shaking.

* * *

Neville ran. Everyone was screaming, everyone. Griselda's hand had long ago left his, and there was a desperate, terrified thing inside of himself that was convinced if he didn't find her right now he would never see here again. He was careful as he ran, though it did little good- trying not to step on the bodies that littered the ground. God, there were so many fallen. How many had died just from moving from the dungeons and into the safety halls where the portkeys were waiting, ready to send them to every end of Europe to find safety?

An entire generation of new witches and wizards- dead.

From somewhere, horrible plumes of smoke drifted into the early evening sky, mingling with the dark, sickening purple bruise that was the sunsetting sky. It was only one of many fires, only one in a series that prickled the landscape.

Again, Neville's world had been tipped upside-down in the space of only seconds; one moment he had been stitching Marcus Belby's tattered forearm with a small, easy kind of spell, and the next, he was grasped around the waist by a hysterical Griselda. Her grey eyes had been wide and wet, set in deep, sleep-deprived shadows that drug down to her cheeks, and her voice had shaken to rise above the new panic that was spreading through the dungeons.

"The- their- Oh, my God- Neville-" she gasped, holding on to his arm and looking up at him as if the world were ending. It fairly well was.

"What?" the sixth-year turned to look out at the pulsing room, where the controlled chaos of students and teachers and everyone in between were grasping their fortitude around themselves and moving toward the South side of the long hall, where the doors led up and out; it was certainly peculiar- a stark departure from the long lines of wounded that he had been helping to shuttle to the few portkeys that had been prepared. He had meant to go himself, meant to take the children, but waves of broken wizards and witches had monopolized his time, and he had been repairing them and sending them above all.

Griselda took a deep breath, steadied herself, and said in a rush, "The prefects over there said there's a crack in the defense against the outer wall, they say the Death Eaters are gonna break their way in any minute to find that Harry Potter fellow, oh and Neville, I can't find Gray _anywhere_!-"

Then, a small explosion tore at the Northern wall, and the force shook Neville at the knees. He could hear gasps all around- and even being metres and metres from the breach, he could see plainly the panic and destruction that was swelling like a tsunami their way. Griselda's grip on his arm tightened, and her whimper sent a shiver of fear down his spine- there, across the dungeon hall, a dark wizard's first arc of magic had struck down one of Hogwarts' students.

"Come on," he breathed, lungs suddenly stopped around a wildly beating heart; he grabbed at Griselda's hand and swept Milelu unceremoniously from his perch at Marcus Belby's side. Rushing for the stairs, which now seemed impossibly far away, he choked, "Come on- come on!"

Urgency flooded his voice as he gained volume, from no-where, Raymond popped at his elbow, face twisted with fear. "Where's Lenore? And Kurt?" he asked, and Neville had no answer now. Around them, a surge of movement- and a series of shouts and screams- had begun.

Milelu was yelling from under Neville's arm, "Iky! _Iky_!"

A strangled scream from far-off was his only response, and Neville felt his heart in his chest like a wild animal struggling against a cage. Above, a slip of sandstone dropped suddenly to the ground, knocked loose by a trick of magic- it shattered on the ground, spraying dust and debris, and new, tortured cries emerged from beneath it. Neville could see hands, legs- but he skirted past the accident and almost lost Milelu in the process. Except, as he lost his grip, Iky appeared, breathing heavily and still clutching bandages, which he tossed in favor of the tiny Hufflepuff's hand.

Aesmi was with him, and she looked far worse than the rest, eyes already brimmed with tears and hands reaching for Neville's coat. "W-What's going on? Are- are we-"

Neville paused only long enough to pull his coat off and tie it round his waist, saying, "Aesmi, love, I don't know- but we've got to go, they're looking for Harry, and when they don't find him- dear, God-"

And the only thing to be done then was run.

So he ran.

* * *

"Wh-What are we gonna do?" Aesmi cried from behind him, fingers gripped in the tail of his housecoat.

Neville whirled around- almost tripping in the panic. "I don't know! I'll think of something when we find the others, so don't get lost."

As soon as they'd emerged from the dank heat of the dungeons, into the unsettling middle brightness of day, Neville had been taken aback. There had been a goodly percentage of the school's population in the dungeons, but it was clear that everyone who hadn't been swept underground was either up here, running wildly through halls and stairs- or dead.

A series of prefects were directing against one wall, where empty portraits hung askance. The flood behind Neville and his lot surged, and he was pushed inexorably forward, toward what could be their salvation or their demise. It was a Ravenclaw like Iky who shoved him left, whereupon he felt more than heard the shudder of magic that whipped up from below, and in the moment that followed- in the terror of such a sound- he lost Griselda.

Horror rose up violently in his chest, and Neville whirled as if possessed; in his throat, a choked cry for her died as he saw her swept along in another current of panic. Aesmi was close at his side, breathing heavily, and then they were running again, down the corridors and winding walkways that made up an entirely battered and strangely terrifying Hogwarts.

"Kurt! Kurt Beetle!" Neville shouted as they emerged, blinking, into the grounds of the school. Crumbled bits of wall were everywhere, some smoldering and half-crushed into the strangely green grass. There was frantic movement all around, and of a sudden, Iky's hand came unloosed from Milelu's, and a stream of people trampled over. The third year's shout startled them all, but more startling was the limp, unconscious Milelu that Iky then pulled up from the ground.

There was nothing for it- the flashes of portkeys going off and fizzling out were blinding, and there was no thinking on it when Neville, clearly, saw masked figures charging through the masses and striking down students at random. The sixth-year was horrified to see a pattern of danger around what clearly were escape points. He blinked his eyes once, very hard, and directed them in the opposite direction. Raymond protested, voice edged in fear, "But the portkeys- they're-"

"It's not safe, we have to find somewhere else to go!" Neville pushed them along, helping Iky to sling Milelu on his back. "And we have to try and find the others- I haven't seen any of them."

They were paused on one side of sickly-looking wall, breathing heavily, and Neville tried to find his wits, hardly noticing the surge of young people who had clumped into their group, following, "It's possible they've already been rescued, and taken away from here. But there's so much going on... The ministry can't be expected to save everyone all at once, it's impossible. So we're going to do our best to stay together and alive, all right?"

Raymond and Aesmi nodded, and Iky kept his eyes level with Neville's, now unable to move his head too much with Milelu on his back; his face was mapped with exertion, and Neville knew that the adrenaline that had driven them this far would give out- sooner rather than later. The stress of not knowing if Milelu's fall had damaged something was clearly etched in Iky's refined face.

As they moved, Neville returned to his own screaming, "Lenore! Lenore Powell! Griselda, Gray! Kurt! Griselda and Grayson Taylor! Kurt Beetle! Taylors!"

"Longbottom!"

"Lenore Powell! Griselda Taylor! Grayson Taylor! Kurt Beetle!" Neville continued, voice hoarse. Aesmi uttered a startled cry, and he turned in time to see a blur catching up to them- all crumpled white shirt and wrinkled trousers, all crooked eyeglasses and mussed red hair.

"Neville! Neville, didn't you hear me?" Percy grasped him in an unexpected embrace, firmly and briefly, before releasing the blonde and gesturing at the four who followed him most closely. Neville shook his head dumbly, overwhelmed. Percy pulled Iky in closer, and as an afterthought, pulled Milelu from the third-year's back. The dark-haired boy looked close to protesting, but Percy's forbidding expression deterred it. The swarm of people around them did not abate, and Neville was unprepared for Percy's sudden attention, "Are you all right? What are you doing?"

"I'm- I'm," Neville stammered, and suddenly, all he could see was Percy cradling the tiny Hufflepuff's unconscious body, eyes trained unwaveringly on him. He tried to find his words, but they were gone. Finally he murmured, voice breaking, "Percy, I don't know."

The middle-born Weasley nodded, and shouted over the noise even as he brought Neville under his free arm, "I've been herding the survivors to the auxiliary portkeys. If you follow me, I can get you to safety. Do you understand?"

Iky nodded first and reached for Milelu, while Raymond only tried to keep Aesmi from bursting into further tears. Neville rubbed his eyes, "I'll help. Anything you say."

Percy nodded in turn, pushed Neville gently ahead of him and explained while he strode with incredibly long legs, "They're falling back now, but only somewhat. The high aurors think Potter might have managed to-"

"I don't want to hear it, Percy," Neville said firmly, jogging just to keep up, while his kids' heavy steps followed behind. "I just want to find Lenore and the twins, and Kurt, and I want them safe. I- I don't need to know any more than that."

Percy gaped openly at Neville's short smile, as if something wholly unexpected had pleasantly surprised him. The former Gryffindor seemed to laugh, and Neville glance over, filled with chagrin- "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you-"

How he managed it, Neville would never quite figure out, but out of that strange, dark blue sky, with the slow-moving clouds and the disarming, light breezes, and the terror and screaming and nameless faces struggling for their lives, as sunset crept across the world, Percy reached down, mid-stride, and kissed the corner of Neville's mouth. "Neville Longbottom, you are amazing."

The shorter had no time to pick apart the action- the stream of movement pushed them inexorably forward, nearer to Percy's unspoken destination, and even as he felt heat fill his cheeks, and felt the older man's words sink in softly, he knew more trying things awaited him.

He knew it as soon as he heard the crumbling of brick and stone and wood, and the familiar screaming that accompanied it.

_"Oh, my God..."_


	3. Chapter 3

******(KAI) **Yeah. Cliffhanger. That was what that was.

* * *

**On a Battlefield**

**3**

* * *

The explosion resolved itself over the way, some fifty metres from where the group that Percy had caught up to stood; he stopped abruptly to see it, and Neville crashed against him in the first act of gracelessness that had besieged him since that moment, sometime after eleven at night, that Neville had first been thrust into the world of Armageddon. It was not so much more, then, that Neville stayed rooted against Percy's side and watched in horror as the collapse of part of the east wing consumed the horizon.

"We were-" Aesmi gasped, falling to her knees and hitting damp grass, "We were just over there!"

Raymond seemed to shudder, and he held his arms in front of him as if suddenly cold. Neville also shivered, and almost didn't notice the strangely familiar brush of Percy's hand against his shoulder. But it was there, and it was comforting, and it brought Neville round to their problem. "We have to press on. Percy?"

The redhead looked down and saw blue-grey eyes silently asking him to lead the way. All around, a new cacophony of terror and wickedness rose up, so that every moment which had passed before now was like a gentle, easygoing dream. Percy swallowed thickly, reached to help up the towheaded Gryffindor girl, and nodded.

Neville was shocked to be led, then, toward the southern edge of the Forbidden Forest. From the moment he had emerged with the ragtag group, he had heard shouts and murmurs, all of them warning away from the forest and its apparent deathtraps. Panting, head swimming with fatigue and confusion, Neville hurried alongside the taller man, and said, "But what about the warnings? What about the Death Eaters?"

Percy smiled wickedly down at him without breaking stride, and Neville flushed. The redhead replied, "Things have changed wind since then, ducky. You're thinking of a short time ago, when the dark lord still breathed."

The blonde was lost in a cavalcade of excess information, and more questions than he had initially bargained for: Had it really been so long, so very long, since they had come from the dungeons? Was Voldemort truly dead? And what of Harry, who had gone to see to such a truth? And, God, where were the twins, and Lenore and Kurt?

A voice rang like a startled bell, from far off.

Head swimming, he was not prepared for so sudden an answer to the last of his wonderings, but still, when he turned to meet the voice, he was overjoyed to see Lenore, her dark hair flying behind her, sprinting for them at the forest's edge. The joy slid away like a silk sheet, however, when he saw what made her run- wildly cursing and gibbering with thick madness, a hooded Death Eater loped after her, stumbling and throwing off spells with an abandon that failed to hit its target. "Lenore!" he shouted, voice hoarse and terrified.

In that moment, the Death Eater tripped, screeching curses and flailing wildly, and a streak of red, sickly magic issued from their wand. It crackled past Lenore's breathless, lithe little body, and struck- deeply, mercilessly, blindingly- into Aesmi.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Percy's shout punctured the sick air, and the Death Eater did not rise. Lenore came crashing down alongside Raymond, who caught at her the same as Neville did; and she sobbed openly at the crumpled thing that was Aesmi, who had stuck by Neville since the beginning, had not been lost, and yet, had not been saved.

The blonde moved from the first years, among whom Iky crouched, holding Milelu close, and refusing to look up. He reached out carefully, and passed his fingers over Aesmi's still-damp cheeks. She had been so brave… crying, and carrying on, and surviving… Until.

Neville rounded on Percy, a terrible fury wrenching at his gut, and he opened his mouth to throw the ugliest accusations he could think of- of how little Percy's word had meant against the Death Eaters, and the purported safety of the forest, and his failure to cast off the enemy sooner, when Neville had trusted him,_ trusted him_-

The accusations died on his tongue.

"I'm so sorry, Neville," Percy swallowed, white as milk and greenish eyes hazed in pain. "I'm so… so sorry."

The sixth-year wanted to weep, wanted to curl up and mourn forever, for that if everything he had done so far was as easy to undo as this- as casting a lovely young girl into nothingness- then he no longer had will to keep fighting. But, Lenore was shaking like a leaf in Raymond's arms, and his Gryffindor countenance was equally strained. "Oh, oh, God, it's my fault, it's my fault-" the dark-haired Gryffindor girl gasped, over and over, eyes wet and miserable. Raymond seemed to hold her more tightly, but it was Neville who soothed, "No… Lenore, love, no."

Percy flinched visibly, and seemed to sag under a weight that started in his shoulders and drug him down to his own feet. He frowned, contrite and unsettled, and let his gaze drop to the ground, only to hear Neville stand slowly, and say, "It's no one's fault."

The redhead jerked his head to meet the gaze that was waiting for him. Neville repeated, "It's no one's _fault_."

"Neville-" Percy reached out that small bit, his hand coming away from his side unbidden, and he was surprised yet again to be greeted by the quiet, forlorn forgiveness that marked the younger boy's tired eyes. It was only a smile- it was only a soft, gentle smile, that beamed from a round, serious face, altogether familiar, but a stranger's face, nonetheless. Percy's breath caught in his throat, and he knew there were words for Neville that he wanted to say, and that they were the feelings that seemed magnified by the wretchedness that twilight had put in the boy's form.

"Percy… please take us to the portkey," the blonde said quietly, standing as tall as his some-odd feet would allow.

Percy swallowed them down. "Of- of course."

* * *

A new noise met Neville's ears, and it differed greatly from the dull roar that had been the transportation from the forest to wherever they were now. It was a familiar chaos- all made up of healing spells and herbs flying across tightly lined pathways, made up of wounded battle victims. He swooned suddenly, thinking of victims- thinking of- of-

And he clutched his robe more tightly around himself, leaning into the hand that came to rest supportively at his lower back. "Welcome to Aber Dyfi," Percy said, matter of fact, while his eyes swept through the frenetically charged building as if in search of something.

"_Ahber Duvvy_," Neville tried, experimentally. The first years quietly chorused the strange words, and Iky asked quietly, grip shifting on Milelu, "We're in Wales?"

Percy nodded, "In Gwynedd. Not far from Tywyn and Machynlledd, we are."

They were moving in a thick procession toward a more sparsely populated area in the building. Neville was caught on the strange names, trying to pronounce them for himself after Percy, but getting tripped up as if his tongue was made of lead: _Guh-ooneth, Tuh-ooun, Mackunleth_...

"Let's see him," Percy was saying, even as Neville fought to keep up, now, befuddled as he was. Somehow, far away, he thought he could hear water, moving, heavy, and it did not help his tired confusion. Iky slipped Milelu onto an empty space, where the tiny first year lolled and was still. Neville could see in Iky a terrible, dark fear, which the third-year had hid magnificently until this moment. The only hope they could see was the slow, careful rise of the boy's chest; Percy checked his pulse, and wildly, irreverently, Neville thought of lifeless, limp Aesmi, still lost at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Have a look, Neville, tell me what you think." The voice was strangely gentle, and the Gryffindor was snapped easily from his mental wanderings; he was somehow surprised at his actions there-on: as if he stood apart from himself and watched the scene, omnipotent, like the god of dreams. When had he learned to check for signs of damage? How was it that he knew Milelu's vital statistics without benefit of machines? Sometime, some strange time from the moment Percy had first begged his help, he had learned these things through experience, faster than anything he had tried to know before.

"He's concussed, God," Neville mumbled, bringing out his wand, "He shouldn't be asleep."

With Raymond's sudden, unobtrusive help, the two eldest of the group that had become so close, propped up, awakened, and revived Milelu from the spill he had undergone. Iky's face relaxed instantly in relief; and the first-year seemed in good, if fuzzy, condition, when he hotly demanded his eyeglasses. The third-year Ravenclaw produced them from his pocket, and Percy, in that moment, drew Neville to the side.

"There are a thousand and one things I have to do, Neville," he licked his lips, letting his hands rest on the shorter boy's shoulders not for the first time, "They're expecting me back at the castle."

He stopped, unsure of what to say next. His hands slipped away, and Neville's pale, round face stared at him like a curious moon. The blonde's thoughts fluttered after those spotty, cream-colored hands: _I'm in Wales. Aesmi is dead and I don't know where the others are. I'm afraid. Percy is... leaving._

"All right," he said quietly.

Percy grimaced, "You need rest, right?" The redhead peered at Neville's glassy eyes, frowning more deeply. "Neville?"

"I'm okay," the answer came suddenly, like a cough, as the boy shook himself from the wavering, sick cloud that he had slunk to when Percy's voice had led him away from his responsibilities. "Just a little tired."

He blinked carefully, and Percy did not say Goodbye. It was as if some chain and ball kept him stopped, kept him immobile and longing not to go. Neville blinked carefully again, visibly shaking the exhaustion off of his shoulders, checkered in red.

"Just a little tired," he repeated, and they stared at one another for one more, long minute. Terseness gripped Percy's spine, and he abandoned the thoughts that clogged his mind- abandoned the hope that inspiration would once more strike him, once more spur him to action. Neville's solemn gaze held him spellbound, unable to set aside the world around him.

He nodded, sharp and direct, and tried to collect himself back into that capable, motivated auror that had saved Hogwarts students and killed Death Eaters with surprising ease. He turned away, walking briskly away, but came un-gathered at every seam when the touch of a hand came at his back, pulling his robe.

It was Neville. The sight of Percy's back had startled him; to no longer be following the tall, slim figure made his heart lurch, and he had impulsively followed, leaving his first and third-year crew.

"Did you mean it?" he blurted, bravery colouring his nervous gaze into Percy's wide eyes. "When you- when you kissed me. Did you mean it?"

Percy ducked his head, and resolved his bashfulness into a nod. "Yes. I meant it, yes."

Neville had grasped the sleeve of Percy's robe, fingers tight and somehow anchored to the man's physical presence. He said in a rush, "I don't know you well enough. I haven't gotten the chance- but I _want _the chance. I want to know you better. So don't- don't get hurt out there. Come back..."

He lost his wind and dropped his hand, embarrassed with his outburst. He glanced up, saw a warmth and relief in Percy's eyes, and then found himself gathered up in a sure embrace. Percy's arms wound fully around him, stiff in intensity. He could feel the man's breath on his neck for a moment and was then released. "I promise to come back, Neville. You're important to me, now, as well… I think you may have always been."

The younger Gryffindor flushed and held his elbows as Percy sprinted away, touched at a different portkey than the one they'd arrived with, and vanished.


End file.
